LOVE IN A MASK

or IMPRUDENCE and HAPPINESS

A Hitherto Unpublished Novel by

HONORÉ DE BALZAC

Translated by ALICE M. IVIMY

RAND McNALLY & COMPANY

CHICAGO — NEW YORK

1911

A NOTE

Balzac, in gratitude to the Duchesse de Dino for her friendship and unfailing kindness to him, one day presented her with the story of "L'Amour Masque" (Love in a Mask) in his own handwriting. The duchess was one of the few French aristocrats who in Balzac's time welcomed untitled authors to their salons, and her library boasted many such offerings from the literary men of her day. She placed Balzac's unpublished book on her shelves by the side of similarly unpublished poems by Alfred de Musset, and stories by Eugene Sue and others. The Balzac manuscript was incased in a finely tooled binding of great richness and beauty, bearing the ex libris of the ducal family.

For more than half a century the manuscript remained where the duchess had placed it. Then her son, M. Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord, the present Duc de Dino, made it a present to his friend, the learned Lucien Aubanel. By him it was given to M. Gillequin, with the suggestion that it be published, and it accordingly appeared in print for the first time in March, 1911. The Duc de Dino, in a letter written to M. Gillequin on this occasion, guaranteed the history of the volume which for so long had been one of the treasured possessions of his family.

THE PUBLISHERS.

CONTENTS

LOVE IN A MASK

OR

IMPRUDENCE and HAPPINESS

I

Midnight was striking, and all Paris was astir; the streets were filled with people bent on merrymaking; it was the eve of Mardi Gras (Shrove Tuesday).

Léon de Préval, a young cavalry officer, had just made his way into the Opera Ball. There, for over an hour, he wandered aimlessly amid the throng that seethed forward and backward, finding no one he knew, and quite failing to grasp the meaning of the stupid greetings flung at him from time to time by the women he passed. Finally, choked with dust, overcome with heat, dizzy with the ceaseless buzz of all these black-robed specters, he asked himself impatiently whether this were indeed pleasure, and turned to find the door.

At that moment two masked women came down the steps into the ballroom. Both were strikingly graceful, and both were strikingly well dressed. They were accompanied by a genial looking man without a mask. A little murmur of admiration greeted them, and a band of giddy youths fell in behind them, hurling flippant compliments and extravagant gallantries at the two masks.

Léon followed with the rest. At every step the curiosity of the crowd added to the numbers of the little procession; soon, it encountered a group of masqueraders, themselves the center of a cortège, who, coming from the opposite direction, threw such confusion into the ranks that one of the ladies, the younger looking of the two, was separated from her friends. Glancing anxiously around her in search of a protector, her eyes fell on Léon, who was following her movements with a good deal of interest, and, hastily seizing his arm, "Oh, I implore you," she said nervously, using the familiar thou, "get us out of this and help me find my friends."

"I am at your service, lovely Mask. Don't be afraid; trust yourself to me, and come with me."

And, with the lady clinging to one arm, with the other he cleared a way for her through the press, bringing her safely out at last to the cloak room; there he seated her on a bench, and volunteered to go to find her some refreshments.

"No, stay with me," she said; "I don't want anything. I am really ashamed to have given way to such foolish terror."

"Ah, but I am ready to bless the cause; without it, I should not have known the happiness of being chosen by you to protect you."

"I am willing to admit that you have rendered me a great service, and I am grateful. I will even implore you to continue to extend your protection until we can find my friends."

"What! You want to leave me already? Ah, if only from gratitude, grant me a few minutes."

"Well, then, as a reward, I will stay a few minutes with you."

They sat down side by side, and the time sped swiftly while they chatted gaily, lightly together.

At last the charming Mask bethought herself once more of her missing party.

"But who are these friends of yours?" said Léon. "Is it your mother, or sister? And, perhaps, a husband?"

"A husband? No, indeed, thank God!"

"You are not married?"

"No, not now."

"What, already a widow? How sorry I am for you!"

"Pray, why should you suppose that I am to be pitied? Are all husbands so kind? Are all men so tender? Is there, on the contrary, one who deserves to be regretted?"